Trust Never Should Have Been Part of the Equation
by otomemiyakatsumi331
Summary: Trust never should have been a part of the equation. It was true though that Ariadne had trusted them. Some part of her couldn't help it, they had been her constant companions for almost three months, and she knew unequivocally that they had her back. But trust was never supposed to be part of the deal. Arthur/Ariadne possible romance
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys. Foolishly, I've decided to start yet another story. Bear with me please, being a student is a full time job and I don't have much time for writing. Well here it is, enjoy!**

Trust never should have been a part of the equation. It was true though that Ariadne had trusted them. Some part of her couldn't help it, they had been her constant companions for almost three months, and she knew unequivocally that they had her back. But most of all they had been there for her when she needed help with her plans, or when she didn't understand part of the dream share. And she had thought that they might just stick around. But trust was never supposed to be part of the deal.

When she entered the warehouse and found it empty, she wasn't shocked or surprised. Rather, she skipped right past shock and went to crushing disappointment. All her hopes of continuing the dream share she had fallen in love with went flying out of her as she stepped through those doors. Her head dipped and a long, trembling sigh escaped her. Ariadne absolutely refused to cry though, because if she cried, she would never be able to let them go. That, she was sure of.

Suddenly, as if renewed, she lifted her head and straightened her shoulders. She strode to the doors and, pausing only a moment to look back, she strode through them.

On the Upper East Side of New York City a bar is hopping one Friday night. A bouncer menaces guests who look suspicious and everyone inside has had at least one drink. The lights behind the bar shine through the harshly colored liquor bottles, bathing the people sitting at the counter in artificial, colorful light. Ariadne Castellanos - or Julianne Howe as she's known now - flips her short brown hair behind her ear and slides through the crowd up to the bar. She takes a seat next to a clean cut businessman enjoying a scotch and the bartender. She orders a double malt whiskey, aware that she has the man's eyes on her. The drink serves a double purpose, it's an attention getter and she actually does like to drink whiskey. The bartender brings her drink at the same time at his.

"Put her drink on my tab please," the man says, shooting Ariadne a sidelong glance.

"Thank you, ah, Mr.?"

"I'm Brian Robertson. Please just call me Brian," he says pleasantly.

"Julianne," Ariadne replies pleasantly, confirming that he is her target. Head of IPCO, a minor league food distributor.

"I've never met a woman who likes whiskey," Robertson says conversationally, turned towards her with his right elbow on the bar.

"I'm not most women," Ariadne replies playfully, and it is true. She strikes up a conversation with him, asking, never answering.

"What business are you in, Brian?"

"I'm actually the president of IPCO, y'know, the..."

"The food distributor right? I've heard of it." She watches carefully as he downs yet another drink in three gulps.

"So what exactly do you do in your company?"

He describes his duties to her, finishing off more drinks along the way. Ariadne has to press him harder to get answers.

"So both of these jack-asses are pressuring me to choose," he slurs, leaning drunkenly toward her.

"What did you decide?" Ariadne asks eagerly, slipping lithely away. She has only drunk half of her first whiskey so she has all of her wits about her.

He wobbles over and drunkenly pins her against the wall. Her small frame is trapped beneath him and she objects.

"Aw c'mon, what do you care about my dumb business? I just want you Julianne." She tries to wriggle out but his arms are locked around her like an iron cage.

"Stop playing hard to get," he mumbles. Ariadne rolls her eyes. She's done with the charade that has gone on too long. She reaches down and takes out the Beretta from her thigh holster. Robertson, mistakenly thinking she is giving in to his wishes, moves in on the slight brunette.

"Not so fast hot-shot," Ariadne warns, pressing the gun against his forehead and effectively stopping him in his tracks. "I need you to tell me who you're merging with now."

Robertson stands, with his mouth hanging open.

"Spit it out, I don't have all night." She waves the gun threateningly to make her intentions absolutely clear.

"I...I...I'm going to go with Langdon," he stammers, sweat beading on his forehead. Ariadne smiles the smile of a shark and removes the gun from between his eyes.

"Thank you Mr. Robertson. And if you're lying, you can trust that you'll see me again."

Outside the crowded bar, Ariadne spots Carmen leaning against the brick wall in a small pool of lamplight. With her trench coat collar popped and her head ducked, Carmen looks the very image of someone waiting to exchange information. Ariadne guesses that she chose the spot purely for that reason and a sneer curls her lip. As she approaches her employer though, her face becomes a professional, indifferent mask

"He decided on Langdon," Ariadne says in a clipped voice.

Carmen writes it down on a notebook. "How did you obtain the information?"

"At gunpoint, but he won't talk. Even if he does, they can't trace me." Carmen nods approvingly, "Good job Howe. At this rate you're going to practically vault yourself through the ranks."

Ariadne nods in cool acceptance of her superior's praise. Carmen smiles insincerely down at her.

Ariadne walks home to her apartment, thinking about the not-so-subtly-veiled promotion offer. If she moves up she can start dealing with customers, rather than just being an information jockey. That sort of a leap can turn a member's life around. This could be her ticket into the fast track. She goes to sleep after promising herself that she'll make sure she doesn't fail on her next job.

The next day, sunlight slants into Ariadne's room through the cheap blinds, waking the petite brunette. She stretches and looks at the clock. It's 2:30; she still has an hour to get ready for work. She takes her time, actually stopping to sit down and eat, and has time to pick out her outfits and expertly apply her daytime makeup.

At 3:15 she leaves for work to start on restaurant jobs. Those are always a piece of cake; they mostly involve sitting, listening and remembering. It's the bar jobs that are harder, necessitating interpersonal interaction and digging for facts. Ariadne is so valuable because she is so good at these. At HQ she is assigned to McCormick and Schmick's, a common place for business deals to be made. She catches the subway to Union Square and walks a few streets down to the venue. In her bag is some cash, a paperback novel and some other menial objects that reside in almost every woman's purse. Not the sort of things one expects of a gangster. But then, Ariadne is not an average gangster.

She is part of the gang called the Hub. Unlike most other gangs in New York City the Hub doesn't deal in drugs. It deals in stolen information. At the bottom of the hierarchy are the expendable information jockeys whose job is to weasel information from important CEO's and VP's.

On the next level up are the intelligence agents or the IA's. This is the position that Ariadne hopes to move to. The IA's receive information from a host of jockeys. Some they sell to the less important customers and some they pass on to the sales reps who deal with the more important customers.

The highest and most exclusive position in the gang is lookout. The lookouts have hundreds of contacts working in major and minor businesses and feeding them news about the workings of the company. They decide who the targets are and pass that down through the ranks to the information jockeys.

There is only one person higher up than the lookouts. To the lower gang member's she's known as The CEO, and her name is Antonella D'Accardo. She is said to be the most powerful woman in the United States.

Ariadne arrives at McCormick and Schmick's. She's there before the dinner rush and has no trouble getting a seat near the business deal. She settles down and appears to bury her nose in a novel. Actually she is using her sharp hearing to catch every word at the table next to her. From what she hears the two companies are planning a partnership in order to better compete against their mutual rival. A smile curves Ariadne's lips. She assumes, rightly so, that the rival in question will pay good money to learn about this before it happens. The afternoon and evening is filled with jobs similar to this, business partners discussing sales, merges and partnerships. She returns to Headquarters at about nine o'clock, wearing bar appropriate clothes. Ariadne is ready to go on her favorite kind of sting, knowing that if she does this job well she could clinch a position as an IA.

She's directed to a bar she frequents for these sorts of jobs. It seems to be a place that businessmen retire to after a long, stressful day. Carmen comes with her and points out the target. Ariadne spots a stereotypical specimen, with a thousand dollar tailored suit and dark, slicked-back hair. She sighs, resigning herself to another night of being molested by a drunken CEO, the only thought that makes her approach him is the promotion looming in her future.

"Jack Daniels, please," Ariadne asks the bartender. She places her chin in her hand and waits for the man next to her to make his move. True to her expectation, he pulls out the battered and long-used line:

"Excuse me miss, but do I know you from somewhere?"

As she resignedly turns toward him the smell of his cologne hits her. That and the shock of his familiar face nearly topples her off her chair. She can't believe that she didn't recognize the clean angles of his jaw, the tell-tale crinkles in his forehead and the surprisingly soft brown eyes.

"Arthur?" she whispers incredulously.

"Ariadne!" he says, pleased. "I thought I recognized you." Ariadne glances over her shoulder and is relieved to discover that Carmen is gone.

"I'm called Julianne now," she says in a low voice with a meaningful look.

"And I'm called Matt," he replies, arching an eyebrow. Touché, Ariadne thinks.

"So what are you doing in New York?" she asks.

"I'm doing some...ah, paperwork, for Croydon Jones." She guesses that he's investigating for a dream share job. A prick of jealousy flares inside her that he continued extraction after leaving her behind like yesterday's news. Her face shows nothing but polite curiosity though. In the past year she's mastered the art of hiding her emotions.

"What about you? Why are you in the City of Dreams?"

Ariadne smirks slightly. It's time for some subtle guilt-tripping.

"Work was a little scarce back in Paris, I thought I'd head back to the land of opportunity. I guess there was nothing left for me there."

She gives him some credit; he hides his emotions remarkably well. But for a fraction of a second his forehead crinkles in a frown. Ariadne is adept at reading people but not many people would have noticed it. For her it's gratifying, she knows that he feels some emotion about leaving her behind.

"Have you heard anything from Cobb lately?" she asks, pressing her advantage.

"Last I heard from him he was with James and Phillipa in Los Angeles," he says and to Ariadne's disappointment no more unchecked flickers of emotion escape.

"Good to hear that he got back to them though," Ariadne mutters bitterly. He got everything he wanted apparently. They both make polite talk about the rising crime rate in New York, the renovations on the subway system and the mayor's latest hollow promises. No personal information is exchanged, which- Ariadne knows- is a good thing. She glances at the time to discover that she's been there too long. She starts to panic, realizing that she hasn't gotten the information she needs to clinch her post as IA.

"I have to go," she says suddenly, standing.

Arthur gets up as well. "Well can we meet again somewhere?"

Ariadne's guard goes up immediately. What is he trying to trap her into? Is he toying with her? She almost turns him down out of spite. Then she realizes that could be her chance to really crack down on him and get the business secrets.

"Sure," she replies smoothly, like she was intending on accepting the whole time. "Same time, same place?"

"Sounds good."

With confirmation in place Ariadne slides through the crowd, her small stature quickly shielding her from view.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi everyone! I've finally finished the second chapter. Upping the edge-of-your-seat factor, so happy reading. (P.S. I really like reviews so please leave 'em)**

"Did you get it?" Carmen asks, spotting her employee.

"No."

"What?" she says icily.

"I didn't get it... yet. I know this guy from outside New York. I'm going in again tomorrow night. He has value. He's worked in a lot of companies, he knows their secrets. I can get more than just one night's info out of this one!"

Carmen looks skeptical but she just shrugs. "Whatever. Your job and your life on the line."

Ariadne turns on her heel and walks a few blocks. As she hails a taxi she hopes that Arthur knows a truckload of important business secrets.

"Julianne," Arthur calls her from a secluded section of the bar. Ariadne is impressed that he remembered her alias, and she won't let him beat her.

"Matt, it's nice to see you again. Not too tired from _paperwork_, are you?" She smirks slightly at him, knowing that he can't top her.

"Oh," he says, "it's certainly dull, but it pays the bills." Ariadne huffs angrily to herself. Then she realizes that she's getting sidetracked. Now is the time to get to work, not get upset over personal feelings.

"So I was working and I realized that I need an assistant," he says genially, before her lips even form the first question. "Would you be interested?"

She freezes as his meaning settles into her mind. He wants her as an architect. Designing for dream share!

The rational part of her brain lists a whole host of reasons why she should turn it down. But the larger part of her that was hurt when they left and that was so captivated by the dream world of creation takes control. The idea has taken hold of her now, its insidious tendrils clinging to the part of her mind that still harbors hope. She tells herself that it's just to get the information and ignores how the lie sticks in her throat.

"I'd be interested," she says blithely, "When do you need me to start?"

"If you can, let's start tomorrow. Say, two o'clock? At 594 68th?"

Ariadne debates it. That's when she usually does restaurant stings. But everyone can do those, even the newcomers. Carmen will be too busy training new recruits and handing out assignments to notice if Ariadne doesn't come in.

"It's a date," she says with a coy smile and bids him goodbye.

Carmen is waiting outside as usual, but Ariadne still has nothing for her.

"When are you going to get this?" Carmen asks with a threat behind her words.

"I don't know," Ariadne replies, not intimidated. "But I will get it. He's a tough one."

"I thought you were supposed to be the best of the best."

"I am, but so is he. You don't have to come with me; I'll give you the information at HQ when I get it." Carmen angrily stalks away, the sharp click of her heeled boots accompanying every step.

Ariadne has never made too big of a deal out of what she looks like. So now, as she spills the contents of her closet out in her room, she wonders what is wrong with her. All of her clothes seem too dark, speaking of nightclubs, alcohol and sex. She needs something for daytime. Something from her old life that she's about to re-enter.

She casts a tentative glance at the seemingly innocent box sitting on the high shelf of her closet, the only reminders she brought from Paris. Ariadne lifts it down and sifts through the contents, trying to ignore the pangs she's feeling. Pictures of her with her friends seem to be watching as she places them to the side. With a gut-wrenching twist she pulls out the glass protractor that her roommate Antoinette had given her as a gift. Finally she finds clothes near the bottom. Ariadne's new dressing habits die hard and she avoids the light khakis, instead choosing dark denim and a contrasting white shirt. Her fingers brush silk and she lifts out her scarves. She slides the fabric between her fingertips, realizing just how much she's missed these.

Ariadne notices something in her pocket as she dresses. Her hand brushes cool metal and she stiffens. Carefully, she draws out the golden chess piece she made so long ago. The metal shines coldly up at her, mocking her with reminders. Ariadne replaces it in her pocket with care that suggests it might explode.

The subway faithfully takes her within two blocks of her destination and she takes the time to collect her thoughts. She needs to be on the top of her game, she needs to be cool and disconnected. Arriving at 564 on 68th Street she steels herself and enters.

Inside, Ariadne finds a semi-deserted warehouse, not unlike the one in Paris. Arthur is sitting at a spartan-like desk surrounded by a mountain of paper. His laptop is marooned in an island of cleanliness. Arthur is hunched over the desk, frowning at something. Every detail of it, from the desk to the creases in his forehead is so painfully familiar; the image hits her as hard as if she'd been punched. Then he looks up, shattering her flash back. So much for cool and collected.

"Hello. Come over here so I can tell you about this job."

She ventures over cautiously, reprimanding herself for letting so much emotion through.

"I'm afraid this isn't as interesting as Inception, but it's not as dangerous either. Banks and Gates' is a rival law firm to Croydon Jones. Currently, Croydon Jones is prosecuting one of Banks and Gates' clients. They've hired me to break into the mind of the main lawyer on the case and steal information to turn the case in their favor." Arthur shifts and opens one of his clearly labeled files. Glancing at it, he continues.

"So far I've dug up the basic information on him. I'm fairly certain that he isn't trained, but I'll have to double check that."

"So it sounds like you've got this rolling," Ariadne muses, "What do you need me to do?"

Arthur smiles his wry half-smile. "I'm putting you in charge of the layout. Completely. Use your imagination."

Ariadne places a hand on her hip and matches his cynical grin with a smirk of her own. He knows as well as she that her imagination has no limits when it comes to dream share. As she walks away, the smile slides off her face. She's not here to build dreamscapes; she's here to get information. She sighs, as she realizes that she can't see this one through.

Several hours later silence reigns in the warehouse. Despite herself, Ariadne is in a zone; lines flowing quickly from her pencil. She's in the middle of sketching the facade of a courthouse when Arthur's voice cuts through the haze in her mind.

"I wanted to say sorry actually. For Paris..."

"Whatever," says too quickly. "It's all part of the game, right?" she shrugs it off, avoiding his gaze. Then she mentally shakes herself. This is the part where she is supposed to start getting information. She grits her teeth and wonders what the hell her problem is today.

"What are you doing right now?" she asks after a pregnant pause.

"I've hacked into his schedule and am trying to find out when the best time to put him under would be."

"What's this case about?" she asks, pushing to make up for lost time.

"Someone 'misplaced' a rather large check to check to our client and so he's suing."

Focused, Ariadne pumps him for as much information as she dares to take. If he notices her curiosity then he doesn't show it. Ariadne reasons that her endless questions during the Inception have given her a screen to hide behind. She learns a great deal-and jealousy twinges within her as he tells about the many dream share jobs he's had since they left her in Paris.

She leaves the warehouse that evening, her heart heavy and full of sad anger that she can't seem to let go of. Ariadne wonders why she is so caught up about something that happened over a year ago, something that she had been expecting. She shakes herself and returns her thinking to the present, feeling a little concerned that she's had to do that so often lately. She now has something to tell Carmen, she might get the post and finally get into the fast lane of life. Once you're in with the Hub, there's nothing to stop you from living the high life. Though what they do is illegal, it is almost impossible for the police to track their movements, or to prove anyone is guilty. Ariadne thinks to herself that she probably couldn't have set herself up in a better situation than this.

Ariadne calls Carmen and tells her what she's learned, with a twinge of guilt. She doesn't like to betray Arthur's trust in her, but she reasons to herself that it's only what he deserves. In a world like this, you don't trust anyone with anything. That's the lesson Ariadne has learned over the past year and is how she justifies to herself the things she does.

"I'm glad you finally got on top of it, Howe," Carmen says waspishly over the phone.

"Well, it's good information, right? So it was worth the wait. Do I have a job for tonight?"

"No. Just take the night off." Ariadne pauses in suspicion. She's never been offered a night off before. She comes to a conclusion that they handed the job to her replacement, since she's about to move up.

"Alright. Do you need me to come in tomorrow?"

"Come in." A beep signals that Carmen has rudely hung up. Ariadne sighs at the woman's idiocy and she traipses back to her apartment, not knowing what to do with herself. She doesn't remember the last time she had a night off. As she sits on the couch, she thinks to herself a little pityingly that she really hasn't made any friends in New York. She has due reason though. If Cobb taught her anything in the brief time that she was under his tutelage it was that nothing is permanent and you can't make ties to any person or place. Ariadne guesses that was why she felt like such an idiot after that day in the warehouse.

She glances at the clock, it's only seven. All of the people from the Hub are out working and Ariadne certainly doesn't feel like going out on a bar crawl alone. She flips through the contacts on her phone, looking for somebody to do something with. She scrolls to the newest name: Matt Smith. Arthur. Her finger flutters over the name, as she sits filled with indecision. Does she really want to risk a bond with him? At last she decides that she damn well doesn't care and hits the call button.

They ended up in a club somehow, even though it was the last place Ariadne wanted to go. She doesn't really care now, she's too drunk to. Even so, she feels ill at ease, like she's out working. Another gulp of whiskey and they're out on the dance floor, packed by sweaty bodies and deafened by the senseless club music. They're dancing close, but everyone is. It's impossible not to be dangerously close to anyone and everyone. Colored lights and sounds whip around them, making Ariadne feel like she's losing her mind, and she's not sure that's such a bad thing. Arthur in front of her is drunk, dizzying and irresistibly inviting. The rational part of her brain is still holding her back from moving forward, but it's sure as hell not going to stop her from enjoying what she's doing right here and now.

They're back at the bar. Ariadne wants to silence that one annoying little voice that's warning her that this is a bad, bad idea. She looks around the bar, feeling wild and free and her sight crosses a familiar face. She struggles to place it in her mind that feels like it's buzzing. Corey, that's his name. He meets her gaze around the head of the woman he's talking to. Bad, bad, very bad, the voice screams at her. Why is that bad, she wonders. The realization hits her like a bucket of ice water. He's an IA, one who helps Carmen to handle targets for the jockeys. More specifically the jockeys in her department. He can see Arthur standing next to her, Arthur whose picture he's seen in the file titled Matt Smith, target. Mind suddenly sharp, she pulls Arthur away and out of the dangerous club. Stupid, she thinks to herself, she should have known better than to go to a club, should have known better than to get drunk.

"I'll see you tomorrow, when I can get in," she says abruptly to him in the chilly city nighttime.

"The night's still young," he says with a charming- if very inebriated- grin.

"I have something tomorrow morning, so I have to get going," Ariadne says, more harshly than she intended. Before she can cause any more damage she calls a cab over and slinks into her apartment, disgusted with her own foolishness. As she lies down in her bed she is gripped by fear of what will happen when she goes to HQ tomorrow. She manages to fall asleep, but it is uneasy, filled with restless dreams of the fact that she may have just destroyed her own life.


End file.
